


to a cousin

by tigriswolf



Series: autobiography [37]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Autobiography, Family, Gen, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, can't live with them and can't kill them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 10:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19149535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: “You burn down any more apartments lately?”





	to a cousin

**Author's Note:**

> written june 8, 2019
> 
> after a family get-together for a cousin popping in as he moves from Washington to Virginia

                             “You burn down any more apartments lately?”  
  
  
  
First of all, fuck you.  
  
Second, is this some kind of revenge for that facebook debate where you told me you voted for Trump and I provided citations for why that toe fungus in a human suit is a racist, misogynist warmongering liar?  
  
Third, we’re adults now. This isn’t you poking at me, looking for a reaction, just to annoy me. It isn’t funny (never was) or cute (ditto).  
  
Fourth, I just walked in the door, dude. How dare you? It isn’t a joke.  
  
Fifth, how do I react? Do I say something? Ignore you? Walk back out the door? Cry? Slap you across your grinning face?  
  
Sixth, I do nothing. Of course I do nothing.  
  
Seventh, I walk further into the house, ignore you. Stand in the kitchen for a minute. Put my purse in the room down the hall.  
  
Eighth, if I’d come by myself, I’d leave.  
  
Ninth, we’re family, aren’t we? I only see you once a year, if that. I almost didn’t come tonight because of that facebook debate. Didn’t want to talk politics, and since I learned that about you, I haven’t been sure how to think about you. You know?  
  
Tenth, I guess you don’t.  
  
Eleventh, I don’t bring it up, that gut-punch as soon as I walked in. But I barely look at you, all night long. My comments are general, my stories told to the group, nothing addressed to you. I have no idea if you noticed, and I don’t care.  
  
Twelfth, how dare you? Two years later, and it doesn’t consume my thoughts anymore, but it’s never far away. And now, in this house full of people I love, gathered to see you because you’re in town, it’s all I can think about.  
  
Thirteenth, we’re not kids anymore. I’m not gonna cry because you sucker-punched me. I’m not gonna react, let you know you landed a hit.  
  
Fourteenth, fuck you.


End file.
